Be My Valentine
by Miss-shiva-adler
Summary: A series of first times recollecting Valentine Morgenstern's journey from failed marriage to newfound love. [Set in the TWI verse]


The first time he thinks of kissing her she is in his car

He stops the car. It has been pleasant, too pleasant. He knows it isn't right, asking everyone out for dinner after the breakthrough at what he calls 'The Lab'. But everyone has deserved a treat after the final test results are in. The code has held for over an hour before it fried a first server. It has been a win. Hugs, high fives, pats on the back. He knew when he inhaled her scent that he shouldn't have lingered on it. His whole body thrums.

They all had dinner, lots of wine, and he knows he shouldn't have been drinking. But he needs not to think.

He proposes to give a ride or two home.

She is the first one he asks.

And he knows he shouldn't have.

There is no harm in tension. Even if their hug sends his mind racing. Isabelle Lightwood is a pretty girl. Intelligent, soft spoken unless upset, she has quirks, she chews on her pens when she is thinking and keeps on forgetting about her coffees until they are too cold to drink hot. There is a strength behind her confidence which only very few have at her age. She is always able to follow him in his vision when he starts rambling and gets carried away.

He turns toward her. She is sitting in the passenger seat. They have been silent for a while.

"This is your stop, right ?"

She fishes her phone out of her pocket. She is biting her lip. He knows he shouldn't be staring at it.

"Yes, I-" he sees her scrolling back up on a chat messaging box. Before scrolling back down. "I was waiting for a message. "She sighs. "It doesn't matter I guess…"

She unbuckles her safety belt. "Thank you for the ride, Mister Morgenstern."

"There is no trouble I hope," he says, he asks. He knows it isn't a good idea to ask. Not the way her mouth closes and her eyes seem to be thinking. Her eyes dart to the outside just a split second, she fidgets. He wonders. He worries.

He shouldn't.

Not the way he is doing it.

She shifts in her seat and he knows from the way his own body mirrors hers that he has made a mistake. The tension is there again. It's thick, it's suffocating. It's like dancing on the edge. He knows. He feels it. She looks away and… blushes.

He doesn't understand why his heart rate picks up.

"Simon is home…" she bites her lip again. "He is with his boyfriend."

He can't keep the surprise, the frown, the confusion from showing on his face. He is usually well put together. Clarissa has more than once made big revelations that initially had him losing his cool. But he has never once raised his voice or spat anything he'd regret. He always stayed in control. Now he doesn't understand. Why ? How ?

"Ah" is all he manages to say. He feels his heart strain, thinking of Jocelyn. She has texted him earlier tonight that she won't be home until late tonight. He keeps himself from gripping his steering wheel too hard.

He wonders if he should be asking, offering comfort, or offering guidance. But the words don't come out. How ? Why ? Why would Simon do something like this ? It is clear that the girl is in love with him. And he knows she is intelligent enough not to stay. She deserves better. She deserves a man who loves her. He is about to tell her that when she cuts him short.

"It's not like that." She inhales deeply and smiles. "We have agreements."

"Ah."

He says it out loud. He hadn't expected this. Not of her. She doesn't seem the 'type'. But youngsters these days are all about freedom.

"And his boyfriend has a boyfriend as well, we… we both have the capacity to love more than one person. We always have. It's his date night tonight, his boyfriend is a hematologist. They don't get round to seeing each other very often. I would prefer not to intrude, he usually sends a text when his dates are done. But he hasn't yet."

He knows he probably looks very confused. More than usual. She starts to laugh, a full on belly laugh that sounds like a relief of tension. One that echoes through the car. He can't keep his eyes away from her.

"I'm sorry, you look so confused." She lays her hand on his arm and his whole body electrifies. "I'm willing to explain some more, if you got the time."

He nods. There is no one waiting for him at home tonight anyway. His heart strains.

She settles back into the passenger's seat. "So back in high school when…" she starts rambling.

For the first time he finds himself hearing of the term 'polyamory'.

He listens to her for a good hour until Simon's text surprises the both of them mid-conversation.

Another full hour passes before she finally leaves his car.

For the first time he goes home without thinking too much of the empty bed awaiting him.

For the first time he feels like someone taught him something he had absolutely no clue about.

It's also the first time he wonders if this means it is okay to want to kiss her.

—

When he invites her up in his apartment for the first time, it is after Jocelyn sends him a text.

'_I'm out working late at the workshop tonight_.'

He pockets his phone as he looks back on to the road he is driving. He shakes his head. He is driving Isabelle back home after dinner with another project sponsor. They need new servers. He tries to close himself off. He knows he inhales a bit too constricted for it to seem natural. But the twist in his gut doesn't fade.

"Valentine ?" He fights off the need to close his eyes. He has to keep his eyes on the road.

Isabelle is way too perceptive for her own good.

"Sorry, I'm a bit tired, Isabelle." It sounds like a lie.

It's a lie.

There is a silence between them. He knows she wants to ask. They all do. They all want to.

She lays a hand on his arm. He doesn't feel like looking at her. But he understands the gesture.

"Can you drive home ? I can do the rest on foot." She says.

He gets what she means by that. She understands. He hates it. He hates the fact she is using his lie against him; She knows he won't be going home otherwise.

_Because he prefers to stay at the office on nights like these, working._

He begrudgingly agrees.

They park in front of his apartment building. They get out of the car. It's a bit cold outside. He looks up, most people have shut their blinds or have turned off the light.

He doesn't remember if he left the heating on.

"Do you want to come up ? One last drink."

He knows he shouldn't be asking. But the idea to come home to an empty apartment isn't an idea he wants to entertain.

_There is no harm in a last drink is there._

She comes up, has a bit of gin.

She leaves 4 hours later after long conversations about the project and movies.

He feels guilty of having liked her being here.

—

The first time he kisses her, Jocelyn had sent another text late at night.

He stares at his phone. It hurts more than he can admit. They had just parked in front of her and Simon's apartment. He stares at it again. That one text that cancels out his whole evening again.

'_Something __'s come up, I can't make it._'

He feels it building up. The pain, the frustration. He wants to damn it all to hell. He doesn't know how to keep his emotions from showing. He doesn't know how to react. To be. To understand. To forgive. To be alright.

_Today was their anniversary._

He looks back at Isabelle. Isabelle Lightwood. His developer. The woman who has been at his side. Working insane hours. The woman who understands him. Because she does.

The way her face falters. The way she looks at him. It isn't pity, it isn't mockery. She genuinely feels sad for him. And it kills him that she knows. The face, the broken man behind his mask. And the broken wreck that is his life. He inhales, tries to expel his sadness by exhaling again.

"I'm sorry, Val." It's the first time she uses that nickname. He lifts his finger in the air to shush her.

"Don't be," he turns to look at her, he pockets his phone. "_She_ never is."

She nods. Her eyes lower themselves. He thinks about her blush. He thinks of their conversations, of their times together brainstorming around her ideas. Of their conversations about philosophy, art or even video games. Even if he doesn't dabble often in them. Her face, her perfume, her laugh.

The tension. Between them, in the air. Every time he takes a step forward, one step too far. He… He knows he shouldn't.

He feels _alone_.

The tension between them is ever so present. In different ways, in different layers of their relationship. He knows _he_ is _the bastard_ when he makes the selfish decision to damn it all to hell.

"Goodnight, then." She unbuckles her belt. _She_ leans in for a hug. Because that's what they had taken on doing since they became friends.

_He_ leans in for a kiss.

Her lips are soft and young, and her small gasp makes him explore her lips, her mouth. He lays a hand in her hair. Holds her by the nape of her neck. Until he can taste her tongue. She caresses his scalp, almost straddles him to kiss him back ferociously.

His chest aches. But it feels _too good_ to _care_.

—

The first gift she gives him is a snow globe.

It's nothing, not an extravagant present or something of her own making. The emotion that bubbles up inside of him twists his insides. It was purchased at the gift shop of the Japanese garden they went to - their first date - it's only a couple of dollars. But the meaning behind it weighs more than the object itself.

For the first time since this all started he believes this _affair_ is worth keeping longer than what he had anticipated.

He kisses her over the table. It's chaste, short, burning.

He orders another bottle of wine.

—

The first time she calls him Daddy is when they are already fucking.

She is plastered against his dinner table face first, she is disheveled. A thin layer of sweat coats her back. She tries to brace herself but the snapping of his hips in a deep thrust makes it impossible for her to ground herself. She is naked, he is not. He holds her by the hair, and as he tugs, she moans. It's delicious, it's wet. He grunts at the sound of them. The sound of his balls slapping against her. His nails trail her spine, he pushes on her smaller back to grind her rear even more against his pelvis.

She whines, he can't keep a smile off his face. He wants more. He shoves her higher. Her feet completely lift from the ground and she looks helpless as he pounds into her g spot. He wonders if it's going to make her squirt like last time.

She starts muffling a sound. Her arm is against her mouth. Her legs go lax and he lays a knee on the table for more leverage. He is aware of her saying something against her skin the second time she says it after a second deeper thrust.

He stops, his hand takes away the hairs stuck on her cheek in a soothing motion. She whines, he greets her with a snap of his hips.

"What are you saying darling ?"

He comes instantly, his whole body goes rigid, he rides off his high, too shocked but too turned on to let go.

He promises to continue with eating her out as long as she keeps calling him that.

—

The first dinner with the others on the relationship string is strange.

He is nervous. He prepares at her place, she tries to keep it as light as possible. They talked and talked until past midnight yesterday. Just to soothe his nerves. Of course he knows how to appear confident on the exterior, 'fake it until you make it' has always been the kind of life advice that would get him through the most tedious tasks.

"I'm ready, are you ready to go ?" She is wearing a dark red dress. Her hair is in a neatly tucked braid. She looks stunning.

He gets up from the couch where he was nursing a drink. A drink that is soon forgotten as he walks over to kiss her. She is beautiful. Her dress is tight fitting, going right below her knee. It looks very stern but the glint of the Star Trek earrings he got for her birthday gives the point of silliness he likes her so much for.

The urge to hug her is stronger than anticipated. He tugs her against his chest, inhales her perfume. His nerves are suddenly gone.

"Val ?" she asks, her tone bleeds concern.

He doesn't reply, he basks in her smell, in her reassurance. He squeezes her tight one last time before he lets go.

"Let's go," he says as he offers his arm.

He has proposed to drive so he does. Ragnor's house isn't as far as anticipated. But right now he is still not comfortable enough to hop behind Isabelle's motorcycle. Not that he doesn't trust her to be a good driver, a motorcycle is just a walking death machine he would never want to come near.

The mansion is huge, and right outside of Brooklyn. Ragnor is Raphael's husband. He has invited them to dinner after the 6 month relationship mark. Not that Valentine was keeping track.

He nods, holds on tight to Isabelle's hand. He tries to ground himself with every steps he takes.

Raphael is the one who opens the door. Valentine has only seen him in passing, but they greet each other politely. The main hall is bigger than any regular New York apartment. There are paintings and all kinds of vases in the decor. Simon has told him that Ragnor is a bit of an eccentric collector. Upon seeing everything, Valentine knows the eccentricity has been underplayed.

Raphael guides them to the living area to wait for Ragnor to come down, offering them drinks. Valentine can't keep his eyes from the mix of art sculptures and other statues; it is… _a lot_. He knows about art, being married to Jocelyn would do that to someone. But you don't have to be an expert to see how expensive such a collection would be.

Valentine is well off but the wealth and comfort around him is nowhere near what he has. The fortune that has been poured into everything around him must have been a life achievement of decades, if not centuries old.

He is _impressed_.

Ragnor Fell joins them with a dramatic entry, in a whirlwind of clothes and smooth movements, and is strongly built, handsome even. Ragnor Fell, a man with refined elegance and strong opinions; a few jokes are thrown around a particular painting that depicts him and Raphael in Halloween costumes. Even though it is as if there is an enigma hidden behind it, Valentine had praised the artist. Which earns a blinding smile from the collector.

He had always wondered how out of place it would be for him to meet the 'others' in Isabelle's life, how it would feel like a stain on a canvas. But the way both him and Ragnor hit it off ? It is soothing.

Soothing because even if Raphael is already older, Ragnor seems closer to his age and smarter than anyone around them. Raphael in his quiet demeanor and Ragnor's more enthusiastic one… It is very different from Simon. But he sees how those three compliment each other in their own weird ways. They all do.

When they leave, a strange worry had been lifted from his chest.

A collector, A doctor, A musician, A programmer and a Madman…

A strange quintuplet of people all interconnected with different kinds of relationships on different levels.

All real… All existing in their own way.

He, as the old and broken man that he is, has a place in Isabelle's life.

The thought makes him incredibly happy.

—

The first time he realizes he is in love with her is when he has his first threesome.

They are watching a movie, she is sitting between him and Simon. On the huge flat screen in front of them, a movie of her choosing is playing. A science fiction movie, something about earth moving and becoming a space ship. He is fluid in mandarin but that doesn't mean he understands everything of what is being said. It is compelling with a tinge of humor. He starts to be engrossed in the story after a good half an hour.

At the 40 minute mark he feels her hand on his thigh. It isn't anything new. Ever since they have kissed in her kitchen while Simon was there he feels… more comfortable with physical displays of affection. Holding hands, maybe a kiss or two on her temple, maybe an embrace that lasted longer than usual. Even when Simon's boyfriend is there, Valentine feels like he can lower his defenses and let his discomfort disappear. Nothing else matters. And they can just be. Without more, showing affection, being together, away from judgment of others or the situations they find themselves in.

And yet.

And yet even if this seems like an innocent gesture, just a hand on his thigh, it isn't one. He feels it in the way she holds her nails on his leg. The way she rubs circles. Slowly at first, until her fingers dig into the meaty part of his leg, always going up steadily. He glances at Simon, he doesn't seem to notice. Or he doesn't look. He doesn't know whether to stop her or not.

His heartbeat increases. He can hear it in his temples. He knows he doesn't want to stop her. He looks at Simon again, he doesn't seem to move. If anything he has her fingers interlaced with his on his own thigh. There are goosebumps on his arms, his body.

He… He doesn't want to stop her.

He doesn't want to stop her because he trusts her.

And even if in the pit of his stomach fear is twisting his gut, he can't fully ignore that he starts getting into it. He is already quite hard by the time she reaches his crotch.

He bites the inside of his cheek, relaxing his shoulders. He extends his arm over the backrest of the couch to hold her shoulder. He stops paying attention to the movie altogether once her fingers start lining his cock through the denim of his jeans.

His breathing hitches, it's almost inaudible. Her fingers circle the tip of his groin. He notices she has a smirk on the side of her smile. He glances at Simon. There is no reaction from her boyfriend.

He grabs her wrist as her fingers speed up their movement. He knows when to hold back a groan. He knows he wouldn't have been able to if she continued. He lifts her hand to his lips to kiss it.

When he looks up at her he can read her determination. Her lust, her idea. He can see Simon perk up, turn his head to look at the both of them. He lets go of Isabelle's hand. There is the same kind of sideways smile on his lips. He knows very well what's going on. And Valentine has the feeling once more that he has missed all the cues all along.

Isabelle kisses him.

She settles herself better on the couch. His hand comes to cup her cheek. She told him how much she likes it when he does that. Her hands lay themselves on his chest. He glances at Simon who stops the movie.

He watches them, sitting back in the couch. Valentine notices a flush of arousal creeping on Simon's cheeks as he unravels Isabelle, kissing her deeply, sensually. Isabelle's tongue teases his lips and he opens up to her. Things fall into a haze like they always do.

Simon then moves in, his hands are under Isabelle's shirt and Valentine tugs gently on Isabelle's hair. She gasps and moans. She then kisses Simon who plasters himself against her back; The way his hips move to get friction show clearly that he is just as aroused.

Isabelle's hands squeeze his chest and they go lower. She clasps her hand on his crotch and he knows. He knows they are going to have sex. This had gone long past teasing. But as Isabelle unbuttons him he finds himself feeling uncertain. Simon lays a hand on the backrest of the couch.

Valentine doesn't know what to do exactly but he understands. Simon waits, they both glance at Isabelle who lowered her head to get a better view on what she is doing. Valentine can't ignore the sudden tension between him and Isabelle's boyfriend. Especially when Simon moves to come closer, lifting himself up so he can reach his metamour without needing to climb over Isabelle.

The idea of a kiss takes root in Valentine's head as a fast growing sapling that quickly becomes a full blown tree. Simon looks down at him, awaiting consent.

This is completely unchartered territory. He has never considered… He has never considered to kiss someone of the same gender before. He… he admittedly is a bit lost. Has he been attracted to other men before ? Does he want to ? Does he have to before he agrees to be kissed ? He thinks. He knows his eyes show his confusion.

He is glad when Simon decides to do it for them when he slightly nods, to breach the gap between them.

It's strange to kiss another man. There is some stubble on Simon's upper lip and chin. He tastes different. Even his technique is different. He doesn't know what to think when he uncontrollably moans into the kiss. His whole life turns up side down. The more he responds to Simon's kiss, the more he yields. The more Simon starts touching him, the more he doesn't want it to stop. He is left breathless when his metamour breaks their kiss. Isabelle's hand moves on his now fully hard cock.

"Can I blow you too, Mr. M. ?"

He doesn't know exactly how to react, how to talk. But he knows when a battle is lost. He knows when he has been masterfully played.

Isabelle's hands are still fumbling with his zipper.

He trusts her to have talked with Simon beforehand, to have given consent, so it's only up to him to say yes or no. That this is okay. He has some fear but he keeps it from showing.

"Yes, but don't call me mister ever again, Simon." He looks up to watch Simon grin and take off his glasses. "Not if we're about to do this."

"Roger that, Val." He smiles. Valentine lifts hips so they can both wiggle him free.

The guilt that Simon is Clary's best friend hovers in his mind, finding it dirty and terribly obscene. He hates how much he seems to like it.

His whole mind goes blank when two pairs of lips enclose his cock.

Later that night, when they are all fucked out, he doesn't seem to be able to find sleep, even if the bed is big enough for the three of them.

He goes to the living room and pours himself a glass of liquor.

He doesn't know how long he stares at it.

His heart is straining, light, fearing but regular at the same time. He knows very well what it means. He doesn't know if he wants to, if he is ready to. Simon awakes a few hours later. He has to work early. It's still dark outside.

Simon's eyes seem to roam over his naked chest before he comes over to grab his glasses before leaving.

"You should tell her."

Valentine looks up. Simon squeezes his shoulder before leaving the apartment with a piece of toast in hand.

He knocks back his drink and joins Isabelle in the bedroom. He only finds his courage 3 months later.

—

He doesn't know what's happening, an empty apartment, an empty home. He lets his luggage fall on the floor, realising what happened. He keeps himself from crying, keeps himself from wanting to feel anything. There is a letter on the main table.

His nickname is written on it.

'Val'

A three letter word he doesn't need explanation for him to know what it means.

Jocelyn is gone.

It hurts more than he anticipated. He walks over. Sees the stack of papers under the letter. The rags of his marriage are displayed by the mere title of the the front page.

_Divorce_

It hurts, it hurts more than he can bear. He opens the letter first. A love note from Jocelyn. Recalling every good memory, every good intention, every word of love they ever exchanged. But also their pain, their loss, the way they both- no _she_\- fell out of love. The hiding, the lies.

All displayed in front of him like a joke of very poor taste, declaring how rotten their marriage had become.

He sits down, unable to keep upright. The aching hole in his chest drags him down. His vision becomes a tunnel. His fingers dig into his pockets.

He holds his phone; slides his forefinger over his girlfriend's name.

The second she picks up he cries, it's a first time, he hopes not to bother her. With the fact that he is so _weak. _That the fact that he is so_ broken _doesn't scare her away.

It's many tears, many apologies, it's punches in the guts and an unspeakable pain. A regret of not having been able to make it work. A regret not having been better than Jocelyn herself.

He loves her

But he loves Isabelle too.

—

He let her hurt him the very first time when she wanted to show off the shoes he had bought her.

It's simple. They are eating breakfast. He is looking over the newspaper, wearing only a robe. He is taking the day off today. Isabelle is preparing herself for a day out with friends of hers.

She has been rummaging through the closet she had claimed at the apartment. Her dresses flew a bit all over before a triumphant 'aha' echoes from the bedroom.

"I still can't find the dress I'm looking for but I found this." He looks up from his paper and almost spits out his coffee.

Her sequin dress is cut open at the sides; It's also very _very _short. He knows his mouth fell open. She chuckles.

"I am glad you like it, it was the dress I wanted to wear last time we went out to eat."

_He wouldn__'t mind eating her out right there right now_.

He sets down his cup of coffee as she walks over to him. It's almost predatory. He likes it. He turns himself toward her and she kindly puts her shoe between his legs. It doesn't take a genius to see how much he is already turned on. His robe is already a bit open and a clear bulge is forming itself around the crotch area.

"Can you close them for me ? It's a bit too low for me." He wets his lips. Her intense gaze almost makes him moan. He lets his fingers trail over her ankle.

He lowers is eyes. He does find himself blushing as he clasps every strap. Her foot feels delicate between his legs. When he takes his hands away she leans closer.

"Thank you, Val." He looks at her, wanting to kiss her dark blood red lips. Her fingers and well manicured nails trace his jaw and she makes him look up even more.

"Can I hurt you ?"

The question is heavy on her tongue, he shifts his hips. An inner turmoil rises. They never do that. But the way her other hand rests on his chest and her shoe presses on his crotch… he lets his shame fall away.

He nods.

Her hands make quick work of his robe. He hisses in pain as he gets scratched and his nipples tortured.

She makes him come only after he sobs in pain and begs her to give him more.

—

Their first fight is a mess. It hurts. He ends up at Ragnor's house. Not crying but ranting. It is about Clary, about public displays of affection. About hurtful words said by his own daughter.

At least his son doesn't care who he is dating.

But he doesn't approve.

None of them do.

And Isabelle understands that she wants more than what he is ready to give right now. He doesn't want to have her around when Clary is there. It isn't much to ask. It's just too much to understand.

'_Clary is okay with it'_

She isn't; she clearly isn't. She wasn't the first time when he told her and clearly isn't now even though Jocelyn and him have been divorced for at least a year now.

Ragnor pours him another drink, scotch without ice. Something he would have taken time to enjoy had the circumstance been different.

"It's not because she is comfortable with it that _I_ am." He looks up at Ragnor. He isn't drunk but terribly wants to be. He hates hurting like this.

"Have you told her that ?" Ragnor sits back in his chair, looking at Valentine. He is drinking a more elaborate drink, a cocktail.

"Of course I did." He spews, still on edge. He downs his new drink.

"What did you say ?" Ragnor smiles as if he knows more than what he is telling.

"That I wasn't okay with her coming over when Clary was around for the weekend." Ragnor drinks silently so to let him finish. "I told her I was insecure about it, yes."

"Have you told her that with those exact same words ?" Valentine looks up at him. The way Ragnor smiles makes him think.

It downs on him. _He hasn__'t._

There is a chuckle coming from him. "Well that's sorted out. It's important to share your boundaries but also your expectations, my friend. It's just speculation, you'll have to ask her, but we both know Isabelle to get inside of her head sometimes. I think she is afraid to not have a place in your life and just an evil step mom girlfriend or a dirty secret to be played with. Not that you do or would."

Ragnor has a point.

"She knows she isn't like that to me. She knows I love her, that I want to cherish her, that I want to be with her regardless of everything." He says. He leans over, suddenly not so sure on what he is advancing.

"Does she ? Sometimes our own insecurities cloud our better judgment. Even if she is confident. I'm sure she isn't free from feeling unbalanced or insecure from time to time."

He sighs. How could he have been so ignorant ? He stands up, fishing his phone out of his pockets.

"Be sure to tell her that you love her, my friend, and give her my regards."

—

The first time she gets the flu in his home he is a bit lost. Maybe a bit overbearing.

"Val, I told you I'll be fine. You need to get to work."

He rearranges the pillow behind her, wondering if he should get her another blanket. He hates the fact he won't be able to take her temperature in a few hours in case a fever hits. He glances at his tablet that flashes his snoozed alarm red.

"I am sure that the French delegation can wait just a little bit longer." He recounts her pills to make sure she has enough for at least the days he is gone.

He'd hate it for her to need to go out because he forgot to prepare something for her. There is a reassuring hand on his arm. She looks tired and her half smile is making his heart flutter at peace. When she puts her now cold forehead against his shoulder, she speaks half-muffled against his arm.

"Val, what do I have to do so that you will finally go to work ?" she groans. A pang of guilt hits his stomach. He doesn't want her to worry about him when she has just fought off a massive fever.

He sighs, pushing her back so she can rest against the whole wall of pillows. He is reminded of the last time he got worried about simple flu symptoms, of when Jonathan was still getting sick because of the buprenorphine.

_He should probably call his son to see how he is doing once he is outside._

But this is nothing compared to what Jonathan has gone through. This is just Isabelle getting sick. He glances to the other nightstand, checking that all the chargers are plugged in and that both phone, remotes and even laptop computers were in reach. He looks back at her.

"I hate leaving you here while I will be in New Orleans, for the next week please promise me you'll take your meds in time." He holds her hand to his lips. A smile draws over her face when she understand his concern.

He can't help it to smile back, completely smitten. He doesn't- he can't really stop doing it. Hasn't been able to stop since they had been openly dating toward everybody and even in the workspace. He squeezes her fingers one last time before he lets her hand go.

"You worry too much, despite the fact that Raphael said he is going to come over after the conference he is attending, with food."

He stands up, getting his luggage and dismissing his third alarm on his tablet. He would call his assistant later as well.

"Doesn't he have an evening shift ?" He asks, putting on his coat. He returns at her side when he is ready to leave.

"He always has evening shifts. Remember ?"

Ah yes the strange 'sickness' Raphael has that requires of him to sleep a lot during the day and makes him very awake at night. Valentine had joked about the very 'vampiric' nature of his lifestyle once. It had made both Raphael and his husband uncomfortable. So he had stopped prying, he wants to preserve peace between everybody. He likes Ragnor more than any weird thought jumps his mind could make.

Nevertheless, urban legends are just stories to scare children at night -Or ideas to fuel the young adult novels Isabelle loves to read when she isn't trying to catch up on the classic sci-fi literature she has yet to discover.

He kisses her forehead.

"I'll call you when I land. Don't forget to rest."

Her tired but illuminating smile makes him regret nothing about being late at the airport to meet up with the French delegation.

—

She is with him when he has his first heart attack

It's scary, he wakes up in a hospital bed, her puffy red face is making him wonder what actually happened. They were walking around the Christmas market. There had been a sound of glass. Sudden dizziness and his breathing had become ragged. He can't remember how long it took for him to lose consciousness.

_She looks exhausted_.

"That bad ?" he asks. She looks up from her book, walks over to him and sits down in the chair next to his bed. "Weren't you supposed to be with Simon tonight ?"

His voice sounds more rasped than he expected. She laughs a bit. She is wearing her glasses again. How long has he been out ? It doesn't take long before one of the nurses comes to announce the doctor will be there shortly.

Isabelle fills him in on what happened. They were indeed just shopping until he had suddenly come to a halt, he had said something about needing to sit down. He lost consciousness the minute after. There had been enough people around to help out and start CPR and call emergency services.

She is crying while she explains, he is unable to wrap his head around the situation. It's strange to hear how much you escaped death while still being awake and very much alive. Tired, he feels tired and hurting all over. He tries to stay awake as she shares what happened. She is so shaken.

But her words start to drown out and he realises that his concentration is slipping. He decides to hug her. She stops mid sentence and hugs him back. Most of her perfume has worn off. He takes her in. Her fragile shoulders that carry so much inner strength already. He soothes her and through the motion of his hand on her back, also himself.

He is scared, tired and scared, he is aching. It's tiresome to be awake.

His whole body feels foreign and heavy.

The doctor comes in.

They break off their hug.

"Mister Morgenstern, good evening, you can call yourself lucky that your daughter was here to save your life."

The familiar sting makes them both glance sideways at each other. A year ago this kind of remark would still have made them wince. He sighs and waves his hand toward the doctor.

"Isabelle is my girlfriend but go on."

He keeps in a sardonic smile when he sees the doctor shift on their feet. Visibly suddenly uncomfortable by having made a mistake. They cough in their hand to regain focus and explain with a bit too many words what kind of situation Valentine was finding himself in.

It isn't pretty. He doesn't like what he hears but knows that, now that he has stabilized, things aren't as bleak as they seem. There is a series of questions coming, asking about his medical past and recreational drug use.

It's tedious, he dislikes hospitals. The smell of antiseptic always irks him.

The doctor can't leave soon enough and when they finally do, Valentine tugs a worried Isabelle against his chest again.

"Don't you dare worry," he tells her, kissing the top of her head. He knows she can read through him. He is scared, she can feel it from the way he is holding her. He releases her from her arms as he feels another wave of tiredness overtake him.

"Please, Isabelle, don't worry, it's going to be alright, we'll figure this out. Just like the other things. It'll be alright." It's a soothing thought and the way she tries to smile at him makes him believe that indeed things eventually will be.

She nods, biting her lip. "Simon is picking me up in a few minutes…" She hesitates.

"Then go to him, as the doctor said, there is not much you can do. Aren't visiting hours almost over anyway ?" They both look at the clock. There is still an hour left.

"Are you sure ?" She asks. He knows she would stay if he asked. But he doesn't want her to. Regardless, he wanted to sleep some more.

He nods and she prepares herself to leave. Once ready she walks over to him and kisses his forehead. "I'll be back tomorrow with fresh clothing and your tablet, don't you do anything reckless like shouting at the doctors or nurses alright, mi amor ?"

He holds her hand and kisses it before letting it go : "You know me."

_He would totally yell at the staff if he disagreed with them._

The way she rolls her eyes is a clear indicator that she feels more at ease to leave. She blows him another kiss and exits the room.

He doesn't have time to think any more of it before he falls asleep.

He drifts in and out for the next minutes until he is very aware of someone at the feet of his bed. He thinks of faking more sleep at first but then decides against it.

It's Clarissa, she is sitting in the chair Isabelle had been in, a sketchpad in hand.

"Dad."

He doesn't remember the last time she called him that. Not since the divorce. He knows the intensified pain in his chest is of an emotional nature.

"I'm sorry," her nose starts getting red, her eyes swell up just the same. "I'm so sorry."

He sees in her the little girl he raised for years to become this strong independent woman, whether she was four years old and upset at her first broken toy or fourteen getting her first heartbreak.

_His baby_. _His daughter._ _His Clarissa_.

Her face is tear streaked in seconds and she hides it in his bed sheets, shaken by sobs. He grabs her hand and caresses her scalp, just like he has done so many times before.

"It's alright, it's alright," he feels his own voice break. "I forgive you." He doesn't keep his tears from coming either. "Only if you forgive me too."

—

He looks at Isabelle in the midday Bali sun. For their 5th year anniversary he had let her choose the destination. She wanted something sunny and somewhere she hadn't been yet.

It's hard for him to leave his laptop behind, but watching Isabelle completely obliterate other tourists in an improvised beach volleyball tournament is absolutely entertainment enough. He snaps a few pictures here and there, films her scoring and serving with a very strategical mindset. It doesn't take a genius to see how hard she is in it to win. He sends a few videos and pictures in a shared groupchat.

They get cocktails later, free of charge, and he kisses her after her victory under a few envious gazes. He lifts her up, kissing her thoroughly on her sweaty skin before dragging her into the ocean.

Her laughs are what he remembers the most from their first time there.

—

The first time he sees Jocelyn again it's when Isabelle's brother is getting married.

The wedding lasts three days and three nights, there is an overflow of flowers everywhere, the main colours are red and gold. Alexander is still quite cold toward him, but Isabelle's invitation clearly stated she could have several plus ones. It's validating, but also frightening. He greets the grooms with a handshake to wish them good faith and health. He notices the very meticulous embroidery on the wedding suits both of them are wearing, one white, the other blue. The embroidery is golden and displays discrete intricate patterns he has never seen before, but then again he isn't versed in Indonesian culture.

He gets stopped by Alexander's significant other, Magnus, as he is about to leave them to receive other blessings.

The grip is quite strong but the soft expression prevents him from getting defensive.

"Ragnor has told me a lot of good things about you. It's nice meeting you, Mr. Morgenstern."

There is a certain tension that floods off him suddenly. There is a so much warmth emanating from him, Valentine feels his shoulder unwind almost instantly.

"It is nice meeting you as well. Ragnor has, however, mostly complained about you. I'm happy I can now put a face on the name and the person he would so often get playfully irritated by."

The genuine laugh from the groom puts any other tension down and Valentine starts grinning. He releases Magnus' hand. There is something strange about the man. The bead necklaces around his hands and arms peak out from underneath the sleeves as he tries to carefully blink away the tears of laughter.

"What a delight, I can't wait to scold him for bad-mouthing me." Magnus face turns serious. "I have invited Jocelyn. I thought you should be warned of this before you get to see it for yourself."

It's a blow to the gut but Valentine tries not to wince as his whole body turns ice cold in mere seconds. It's been a few years since they last talked or even acknowledged each other. He knows his gaze turns vague so Magnus steps in to put a hand on his shoulder. It's a comforting gesture. He sighs, pulling himself together, putting his well crafted mask on his face.

Magnus sees right through it.

"If there is anything you need please tell me, I'll try to help as much as I can. I made sure you wouldn't at all be seated next to each other."

He is grateful, but it doesn't fix the sudden hole in his chest. There is a weak smile on his face in a pale attempt to say everything is alright. He thanks the groom and walks away. There is a heaviness to his steps and a weight on his shoulders. The few seconds warning did not prepare him at all for Jocelyn meeting him head-on.

"Val," her voice doesn't wake up the shivers they once would have. He turns around and sees Lucian standing further.

_At least they didn__'t gang up on him._

He doesn't know what to say but to reply with his ex-wife's name. It is surprisingly not as painful as he thought it would be. Her hair is short. There are more laughing lines around her face. She is wearing a dress that goes more on the teal side. She looks happy.

"Do you have time to talk ?" the question lies sour on his tongue. Is he capable of having a conversation with her without feeling resentment ? Without feeling disgust or anger ? Is going to be able to say the things he always wanted to say without feeling the hurt ? Can he do this ? Can they both do this ?

_Is he ready to forgive her ?_

He follows her to the balcony where they should be left undisturbed.

—

He is distracted, talking for what felt like hours to Jocelyn has been… A lot of things… He feels peaceful. But drained. He hasn't gone back to the group inside yet. The music is blaring and food has started to be served. He doesn't feel ready yet, he feels off. There is relief but also something else dragging him down. He hasn't felt lost like this for a long time; recollecting everything. Every step of the way that brought him here, together with the new people he loves and lives for. A family, which has once defied everything he ever believed in about love, relationships and ways to live in a society. There has been them and there has been him.

Now it is different, there is them, them against the world but also the world and their own relationships they have created for themselves. Where he once had the feeling of losing everyone to stupid mistakes and broken relationships, he now has a family bigger than anyone of his age could have ever anticipated.

He decides not to cry. Not today. Not when he feels thankful for everything he's ever gotten.

There is a presence behind him. He turns around.

There is a pair of lips on his. Always rougher than usual but steady. He knows how to respond to the simple teasing of tongue and the hand on his jacket that tugs him forward into an embrace.

_It__'s the first time Simon ever kisses him in public._

There is tension but their kiss is not the reason for it. He puts his hand on Simon's waist, trying to soothe him by kissing him deeper.

"I am so nervous." He says when he breaks their kiss. He puts his forehead against Valentine's chest, exhaling some air as he softly yells against the lapels of the jacket. Once he stops, Valentine takes a step back to see how he is doing.

"Feeling better ?" He asks. Simon is rearranging his glasses and exhales again as he nods.

"Asking her to move in with me seems so fucking easy compared to this." He sticks his hand in his pocket to produce the box he and Valentine have purchased together. He opens it again to look if the ring is still there.

"She will say yes, stop worrying so much. We've been preparing this for a while now. Dinner, clothes, even her favorite kind of scenery and flowers." He squeezes Simon's hand, plucking the box out of his hand to put it back in Simon's inner breast pocket. "Things will be fine."

Simon has a lopsided smile.

"She loves you, you could be proposing in your pyjamas right after a hangover or right in front of a group of people in time square; She will say yes. It doesn't matter." The stare that Simon throws at him makes him wonder for a split second if what he just said has been a mistake. That resolute expression has been an omen of badly made decisions before.

"Thank you Val, you're right." There is a peck on the lips and just like that Simon walks away.

Valentine doesn't know how to properly react before it downs on him exactly what is about to happen. He doesn't say stop, he doesn't say wait, he doesn't say anything about the fact that Simon just threw away months if not a year of meticulous planning away. He chuckles. Simon is bolder than he ever was when it is about love.

He appears again, Isabelle in tow as he drags her behind him with a playful little walk. Valentine's heart swells. As on the balcony while the midnight moon is risen high in the sky, he witness the two people he loves the most in the world propose to each other. Where he had failed, he knows they will both succeed. Where he has once stood alone fighting a lost battle, he knows they will ward off any misunderstanding and work through every mistake. Where he once made the worst decision for love, they are currently making the best one.

He loves them, both of them, both differently, both distinctively. He feels happy, blissful, honored to be witness to the stumbling of words and the already shedding of tears in Isabelle's eyes. Honoured to be part of them, to be part of this family, of this intricate and sometimes silly relationship. Where insecurities could be talked about and intrusive thoughts dealt with. He hugs them both once they invite him in their embrace, kisses both of their foreheads.

With both of them at his side, he feels as if tonight, the angels themselves have gifted him the most precious thing in the world.

Redemption.

And the possibility to try again.

The end

_He would still yell at Simon for having fucked up their plans later. _


End file.
